


Spider-Man: Camp Homestead

by bea_flowers



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Endgame never happened, F/M, Fluff, POV Female Character, POV First Person, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Stark!Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-14 22:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20608265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bea_flowers/pseuds/bea_flowers
Summary: Stark!Reader was dreading spending the summer as a camp counselor, but as she started to get closer to Peter Parker, everything changed.





	Spider-Man: Camp Homestead

“Alright, campers,” Peter bellowed, clapping his hands to get the attention of his young charges. “It’s Day 30 at Camp Homestead. Do you know what that means?”

Most of the kids ignored Peter, far too busy with their colorful spools of string, fixated on the intricate patterns of their fingers as they wove the strands together.

“It’s July!” one of the less focused children answered.

“Yes,” Peter said, “but that wasn’t quite the answer I was looking for.”

Even from the opposite site of the campgrounds, I could hear Peter’s voice clearly. He worked well with the kids, probably better than the rest of us. The other camp counselors would joke that Peter was so good with the campers, because babysitting was one of his key responsibilities at the Stark internship. Sure, I joined in on the joke, but that was more because I knew what the Stark internship really was. Dad was never very good at keeping secrets.

“Hey, Parker!” I shouted. Peter whipped around, nearly tripping over his own feet, and scanned the field, shielding his eyes from the summer sun. His face brightened when he spotted me by the oak tree.

“Keep doing that, yeah, I’ll be right back,” Peter said to the campers as they continued to braid friendship bracelets.

Peter jogged over and planted his sneakered feet in front of me. He pitched his hands on his hips and panted dramatically. “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”

I knew it was all an act, but I played along anyway. Besides, I didn’t want him to know that I knew, at least not now. “Bit winded, are you?” I laughed.

“Must be out of shape,” Peter huffed. He fanned out his red t-shirt, trying to cool himself down, though he didn’t need to. He was more committed to his secret identity than any other superhero I knew—and I knew plenty.

“Sure, you are,” I said skeptically.

Peter laughed nervously, like he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been. “What’s up?” he asked.

“So, there’s gonna be this bonfire out on the lake tonight after the big field day competition.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Peter wheezed.

“Oh, good,” I chirped. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the obvious overexcitement in my voice. I tried to play it off and nonchalantly added, “Yeah, y’know, I’m going, so I wanted to see if maybe you were too, or whatever.”

“Definitely,” Peter smiled boyishly, nodding his head.

I shot back a sweet smile of my own, which only made his grin grow wider.

“No fraternizing with the enemy!” MJ shouted from the opposite side of the field beside the circle of cross-legged children.

“I should go,” Peter said, already starting to pace back to his team.

“Yeah, probably. MJ doesn’t really mess around,” I giggled.

“Parker!” MJ yelled.

“I’m coming!” Peter yelled back. Peter turned to me and said, “I’ll see you tonight.”

“See you tonight,” I repeated. I watched Peter jog back to his side of the field.

When Pepper first roped me into this science camp counselor gig, I was dreading the summer. Three months of snot-nosed children, constant sun exposure in the middle-of-nowhere Upstate New York, and an excessive dose Flash Thompson every day was not my idea of a great time. And, it definitely wasn’t the way I wanted to spend my summer before senior year. But, turned out, I enjoyed myself more than I thought.

People were nice. Even though they all went to the same school and could’ve easily ignored me, they didn’t. And, it didn’t seem like they treated me any different because of who my dad was, which, as Tony Stark’s kid, is not something I was used to.

I spent the afternoons teamed up with Ned and Betty—who, regardless of how obnoxiously lovey-dovey and PDA-prone they may have been, were a blast to be around. Together, we led a group of young science dorks, the same kind of kids we used to be.

I spent the evenings hanging out with Peter, MJ, and the others, sneaking out of our bunks most nights to goof off and be teenage idiots. We would run around the woods, getting lost and not caring, mostly because we knew Peter could always lead us back to the campgrounds. It was like he had a sixth sense for that kind of stuff… which, he did.

I spent the weekends lounging around the campus—sunbathing on the pier, paddling around the lake, picnicking in the sunflower field, and having the occasional drink in the boathouse after everyone else had gone to sleep. Well, almost everyone else.

Peter caught me, flask in hand, in the boathouse our first weekend at Camp Homestead. He’d come to the boathouse for some air, expecting it to be empty. We ended up talking the entire night, passing my flask back and forth, swapping stories. It became a regular thing for us. At first, it was Friday nights. Then, it carried over to Saturday. Then, before either of us knew it, we were down in the boathouse almost every night.

I didn’t know if it was his boyish grin and mop of brown hair or his sense of humor and endearing awkwardness that made him so likable. But, it didn’t really matter. I liked Peter. A lot. If I’m being completely honest, he’s the reason the summer didn’t suck as much as I thought it would.

“Okay, kids, round up,” Mr. Harrington shouted from the center of the field. “To celebrate a month a Camp Homestead, you’ll be competing in a little game of Capture the Flag.”

My campers bounced around excitedly. Ned, Betty, and I had played this game with them before, earlier in the summer, and they had proved to be much sneakier, strategic players than I ever anticipated a group of ten-year-olds to be.

“The rules are relatively simple…” Mr. Harrington continued. I tuned out his voice as he explained the game we all knew how to play. I glanced over at the team across from mine, Peter’s team, the Red Team—_god, he looked good in red_.

I watched him chastise a group of boys who were mocking Mr. Harrington. I don’t know why, but the wholesome gesture brought a smile to my face. Peter must’ve caught me staring, because a lopsided, knowing smirk spread across his own lips.

_Damn, that smirk looked good on him, too_.

I tuned back in to Mr. Harrington’s droning. “I’ll give you sixty seconds to strategize, then it’s go time.” He clapped his hands together.

“Alright, huddle up, team!” I yelled, drawing my campers into a circle. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and did my best to channel Steve.

“We’ve trained for this, guys. We’re ready. As long as we stick together, listen to each other, and have each other’s backs, we can win this thing. Now, who’s with me?!” I jutted my hand into the center of the circle. The kids’ hands quickly piled on top of mine. “Blue Team, on three,” I shouted. “One… two… three!”

The kids screamed ‘Blue Team’ at the top of their tiny lungs and scattered, scampering out into the middle of the field.

I felt a tug on my sleeve and looked down to see one of my campers’ glowing faces. In her squeaky voice, she said, “You sounded just like Captain America.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him you said that,” I chuckled.

Her eyes grew wide with wonder and she gasped, “You know him?”

“Sure do,” I sang. “He’s a friend of the family. Now, go on, get over there.” I ushered her toward the rest of our team.

“Ready… set…” Mr. Harrington yelled over the chattering children, but stopped when he saw a hand shoot up.

“Mr. Harrington,” the small voice chimed, “can the big kids play with us?”

The other counselors and I exchanged amused looks, but my eyes lingered on Peter’s a little longer than anyone else.

“I don’t know,” Mr. Harrington winced. He was instantly barraged by a shrill, pleading chorus jumping up and down around him. He gave in. “Okay, fine, but you”—he pointed to us counselors—“play nice.”

I gasped mockingly. “Mr. Harrington, who do you think we are?” I shook my head and added, “Ye of little faith…”

A few of the other counselors snickered, Peter among them, and Mr. Harrington laughed along sarcastically. “Go!” he bellowed, and we all sprung into action.

The campers scurried off in every direction, dodging each other’s grasps and occasionally trudging reluctantly into ‘jail.’ Peter and I squared off at the center line.

The cocky lift of his lips matched mine as we mirrored each other’s positions along the line. Peter’s concentration broke at the sound of a camper’s scream and I took my chance. I dashed across the line and ducked past Peter.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” he called after me. Peter caught up with me in seconds, only a foot away from the line, and wrapped his arms around my waist. I squealed as he lifted me off the ground and flipped me around to face him. I wriggled under his grasp. My jerky movements destabilized both of us. We careened to the grass and fell over the line onto my team’s—the Blue Team’s—side.

“Gotcha,” I panted, not realizing half my body was resting on top of his.

“I totally got you first!” Peter said. I could feel his racing heartbeat beneath my palm. The rapid beat snapped me back into reality and I finally realized the compromising position we were in. I snatched my hand away and scrambled off of him, then collapsed onto my back beside Peter.

“I guess we got each other, then,” I said.

“Looks like it,” Peter said, blushing. Between his heartbeat and his flushed face, he must’ve been putting his A-game into concealing his identity. It was endearing.

The trill of Mr. Harrington’s whistle ripped through the air. “Blue Team wins!” he shouted.

“Suck on that, Parker,” I jeered.

“Yeah, yeah," he said, playing along. “Up for a rematch?”

“A rematch, eh?” I said, my eyebrow cocked with intrigue.

“Tonight, at the bonfire.”

“You’re on,” I agreed and we shook on it. I hopped up off the grass, wiped my hands on the back of my shorts, and yelled, “Okay, Blue Team, who wants popsicles?”

* * *

Later that night, after the popsicles, and the afternoon science experiment, and a dinner of burgers and refried beans, I sneaked out of my cabin and followed the trickle of fellow camp counselors down to the lake. As I reached the tree line, I felt hot breath on my ear.

“Hey,” a familiar voice said.

“Jesus Christ, Parker!” I shrieked at a whisper. I pressed my hand against my chest and exhaled. “You scared me half to death.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter apologized, but judging by the look on his smug face, I could tell he didn’t mean it.

“You really seem like it,” I sniped jokingly and stepped past him into the woods. Twigs and fallen leaves brushed against my exposed ankles. Branches crunched behind me as Peter hurried to catch up.

“I am, I swear,” Peter said as his stride fell in line with mine. “Here, I’ll prove it to you.” Peter pulled a small liquor bottle, flask-sized, from the pocket of his hoodie, unscrewed the top, and handed it to me.

I gripped at imaginary pearls around my neck and dropped my jaw in mock shock. “Peter Parker,” I gasped, “drinking underage? My word!”

Peter rolled his eyes as I snatched the bottle from his grasp. I took a long swig before handing it back to him. I sighed with satisfaction as the liquor flooded my chest with an indescribable warmth.

“Whoa,” Peter chuckled, “I guess you’re not playing around tonight.” He took a sip.

“Quite the opposite, Mr. Parker,” I grinned and skipped ahead of him, reaching the shore before he did. I spun around on the balls of my feet, teetering, dangerously close to tipping over. Peter grabbed my forearms to steady me. I dipped my hand into his pocket and pulled out the bottle. I freed myself from his grasp and sprinted off, away from the raging bonfire. 

“Hey, get back here!” Peter shouted as he ran after me. I turned and attempted to dodge past him, but Peter was faster and stronger than I was. He wrapped his arms around my waist again, like he had earlier, and pulled me securely to his chest. We stumbled over each other’s feet and collapsed again. Peter angled his body on top of mine.

“Gotcha,” he heaved. I panted below him. I tried to look anywhere other than his lips, but I couldn’t seem to drag my eyes away from them. I watched Peter’s Adam’s apple bob as he gulped.

In an attempt to dispel the growing tension, I unscrewed the cap of Peter’s bottle, the bottle that had miraculously remained in my hand, and lifted it to my lips, then said, “We have to stop meeting like this, Parker.”

Peter cackled as I took a long pull. He rolled off me and onto his back. Still laughing, he rested his hand on his stomach. We both glanced over at the burning pyre as we heard the wood fueling the bonfire crack and pop.

“Loud,” I commented and giggled awkwardly. I could feel the heat radiating off Peter’s body as he laid beside me. My skin tingled numbly as the bare skin of my arm brushed against his. I sat up and hugged my knees to my chest.

Another crack, another pop, this time from above. I looked up and watched the fireworks sprinkle across the sky—red, blue, and yellow.

Peter pushed himself into a seated position and draped his own elbows over his knees. He fidgeted in the sand. He inched closer toward me each time he fidgeted, whether he realized it or not, but when our hips touched he stopped and stared at his scuffed shoes. 

I gripped my goose-pimpled arms and rubbed my palms against the raised skin. Peter shrugged off of his hoodie and held it out to me. “Here.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine,” I insisted.

“Seriously, take it.”

“_Seriously_, I’m fine.”

“Just take the damn jacket,” Peter demanded, thrusting it into my arms, quickly adding, “please.”

“Fine, jeez,” I teased before slipping into the warm zip-up sweatshirt. I balled the sleeves in my fists and twisted my head to the side, taking a discreet sniff. Yep, it definitely smelled like him—fresh cotton, Old Spice, and bug spray.

“So, how ‘bout that rematch?” I challenged.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Peter winced and took the bottle from my hand. He took a swig before continuing. “Sandy beach, booze, running… Doesn’t sound like the safest thing to do.”

“You chicken, Parker?” I sneered.

“No,” Peter said, “but you’re a lightweight and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“You wouldn’t let me get hurt,” I scoffed. “You’d save me from any sudden peril, wouldn’t you…” I leaned in close to his ear, my lips brushing against his skin, and whispered, “_Spider-Man_?”

“What? What are you talking about?” Peter shrieked. He scrambled awkwardly across the sand like a crab.

I laughed and darted my eyes over to the others huddled around the bonfire. They were staring at us. Ned had a look on his face that was somewhere between joy and nervousness. MJ faked a laugh and raised her middle finger to us. I turned back to Peter.

He was shaking now.

I attempted to comfort him. “Whoa, calm down there, pal."

“How… Why… What… Wait, but…” Peter stammered and trailed off.

“I’ve known for a while,” I explained. “My dad’s never really understood the whole secret identity thing. He slipped at dinner one night and, well, here we are.”

Peter locked his puzzled eyes with mine. “Your dad?”

“You really don’t know? I thought everyone knew,” I scoffed.

I brushed my hair out of my face and let Peter get a good look at me. His furrowed brows eventually raised and he said, “You’re the Stark girl.”

“Yup.”

Peter cocked his head to the side. “I see it now.”

“Most people don’t at first. Why do you think I never wear sunglasses?”

“Huh,” Peter chirped disbelievingly. “You’re not much like him,” he added.

“I’m a lot more like him than you think.”

Peter and I sat in heavy silence for a while before I repeated myself. “You _really_ didn’t know?”

Peter shook his head.

“Funny, I thought that’s why you were spending so much time with me. Hoping I’d put in a good word for ya with the pops.”

Peter’s brows furrowed again. He said, “Is that what you really think of me?”

I shrugged. “It’s what everyone else does.”

“So, you think I’m treating you like everyone else?” I could hear the anger rising in Peter’s voice, the betrayal. He turned his back toward me and sighed. I so badly wanted to reach for his hand, to apologize, but instead, I stood, brushed the sand off, and walked over to the bonfire.

“Where’s Penis Parker going?” Flash cackled as I approached. I pivoted to see Peter sulking back toward camp. Or, maybe not…

“I’ll be back,” I told the others and jogged toward the boathouse. Peter was slumped against the boathouse wall, balancing his elbows on his knees once again. “Thought you might be coming here,” I said. “Can I sit?”

Peter huffed noncommittally and I took it as permission. I sunk down the wall and mirrored his position.

Peter exhaled, “You’ve known this whole time and you didn’t say anything ‘til tonight?”

“I didn’t want to freak you out or scare you off,” I said. “I really like hanging out with you and I didn’t want to risk losing that.”

“Why tonight?” he asked. He stared into my eyes. I felt blood rush to my cheeks under his gaze, but once again, I couldn’t bring myself to look away.

“I’m drunk,” I lied.

“No, you’re not,” Peter said.

I sighed. “I guess it felt like the right time.” Peter recoiled from me and scoffed. “Okay, maybe not the _right_ time, but I didn’t want to lie to you anymore. I mean, after today, I felt—”

“What do you mean, after today?”

“I don’t know,” I lied again. I tucked my knees into my chest and whispered, “Are you mad at me?”

“Yes,” Peter spat. “But not for what you think.” Peter crawled across the floor and settled in front of me. “You actually thought I was only being friends with you because of who your dad is?”

“Yes,” I murmured. I was still lying, but staring into his warm brown eyes brought the truth out. “No,” I corrected, my voice even softer this time.

“Because I wasn’t,” Peter said.

Peter’s fingers hovered above mine. He was afraid to touch me, I could tell. I could also tell that he wanted to. I twitched my fingers to try and let him know it was okay, but he didn’t notice.

“I thought this summer was gonna suck,” Peter continued. “Like, really suck. But, you… You’ve made it not suck.”

I scooched closer to Peter. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes, as though he was bracing himself for something. “I’m just gonna say it,” he mumbled to himself.

“Say what?” I asked.

Peter’s eyes flashed open and he blurted out, “I really like you.”

I pursed my lips, trying to hide my smile. “Like, _like_-like me?”

“You’re smart and funny and a total dork, and I feel like I can be myself around you, and—”

I kissed him.

I pulled away quickly. The first thing I saw was Peter’s jaw hanging open in shock. The bewilderment on his face was priceless.

“You kissed me,” he said.

“I did,” I said.

A wide grin swept across Peter’s face and he lunged toward me. He drew me into his arms and brought his lips to mine. I broke the kiss and rested my palms on Peter’s chest.

“So,” I cooed, “does this mean you don’t want a rematch or…?”

Peter laughed and pressed his lips against mine once more.


End file.
